


Warm Poison

by GammaRays



Category: DRAMAtical Murder - All Media Types
Genre: (wow that's actually a tag ok), Brainwashing, But also, Crying Seragaki Aoba, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, M/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Psychological Torture, Slavery, Torture, Whump, Whump Without Plot, see cause it's not actually comfort?? schrodinger's comfort??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 10:05:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19374505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GammaRays/pseuds/GammaRays
Summary: When Trip's punishment goes too far, Aoba's only comfort is in the hands of his other abuser, even if it's in the form of further torture.(Set during Aoba's captivity in Virus' and Trip's bad ending)





	Warm Poison

**Author's Note:**

> It's the year of our Lord 2019 and I'm writing DMMd fanfiction... But I admit, I only got into it a few weeks ago, so let me live. Anyway, I honestly just wrote this primarily for myself and to get it out of my system. I love me some crying broken characters getting whumped. I'm probably going t leave this work open for a while, and write and add new chapters (and tags) whenever I'll just feel like torturing some favs lol.  
> The idea for this chapter came to me when I was trying to fall asleep but it was so cold in my room and there was a mad storm outside. This was meant to be A DRABLLE BUT it turned out to be 10k. I don't do drabbles, turns out. Anyway, enjoy, I guess?? Whoever is reading this??

Being hit by Trip is nothing new. On the contrary; my cheek is rather acquainted with his large and heavy palm as he’s much more quick to violence than Virus; the other man prefers mental games that get under his victim’s skin to tear him apart from _within_. Still, the frequency of such abuse doesn’t make it easier when Trip slaps me yet again; there’s just something so excruciatingly humiliating about being hit in the face as I lie there underneath him, stunned and scared - shaking, but not daring enough to even bring a hand to my burning skin. It’s hot, and it starts to itch underneath the pain. I don’t dare move. My head feels hollow as my ear still rings from the blunt impact.

Apparently, this is yet another evening when his patience runs short quickly. Not that this is very unusual, either. Although tonight he has a reason - I never really resist him or Virus anymore, but every now and then my sense of self-preservation returns; sometimes it resurfaces. And then I resist, giving them an excuse to hurt me far more than they planned originally. Not that they need it - especially Trip - but I’ve just given him one, anyway.

The silence in the room is unbearable, broken sporadically by my trembling breaths. Part of me wants to apologise. Part of me knows that there is no point. And yet another part of me knows that I wouldn’t speak even if I tried; after withdrawing so far into myself, I’m not sure if I even remember what my voice sounds like. I don’t remember when was the last time I spoke. It must have been weeks. But there was no need. I didn’t resist so I didn’t need to beg for forgiveness - until today.

He’s motionless above me, gaze palpably boring into my abused face. My fingers twitch on the satin sheets. They catch on my uneven fingernails that I’ve bitten at recently without realising. From the corner of my eye I warily spare a quick glance at the intimidating blue-eyed lion standing at the side of the bed - the root cause of all this mess - patiently waiting for his owner’s further orders. Still, unmoving, and deceptively harmless, but feral, beastly and cruel underneath the quiet façade. It’s only since they took me here - however long ago that was - that I realised just how much Allmates tend to resemble their masters.

Trip is taking too long - he’s undoubtedly planning some sick and twisted punishment. Or is the time just dragging so painfully for me? Either way, was it worth it to resist? I glance at the machine again. It doesn’t matter. I disobeyed and I’ll be punished for it - that’s how it works.

In the periphery of my vision I see Trip opening his mouth and my stomach twists in knots even before his voice comes out.

‘Oi, Aoba. You’ve really done it this time, haven’t you. Would’ve thought you’ve learned by now. How boring.’

I flinch and whimper as if his monotone words themselves had struck me. The air in the room starts to feel hotter. Thicker. It sits heavy in my lungs. The sheets turn to sandpaper as I slowly start to break out in cold sweat. He won’t let me off easily. What have I done? He’s unpredictable, he could kill me. On one hand I wish for it, but at the same time I’m still scared of dying.

Finally, he seems to have made up his mind - with that same impassive expression he abruptly sits back and pulls me forward by the chain hanging from my neck that has been there for so long that I might as well consider it another limb. I give a pathetic yelp as he pulls me further and onto the floor, making me hit my shoulder hard enough that I know for certain there will be a dark aching bruise. In contrast, Trip gets off the bed at a leisurely pace, slowly fixing his clothes. He towers above me, buttoning up his shirt as I sit up on my knees but with my head bowed in contrition, unsure of whether I should stand up or stay on the floor. Fear of angering him further makes me want to not even breathe without permission. Whatever he has planned - it can’t be good. Not when he’s redressing before he even properly got started, so really, no matter how much of a remorseful display I put on, he won’t be swayed. He’ll make me pay.

But still, there’s always that disgusting little bit of hope; that maybe he will be too tired, or just not bothered enough to dish out some extravagant punishment. Hope dies last, doesn’t it? It’s as foolish as it is persistent - it comes back, even if it always gets crushed. And it gets crushed now too, as he gets a hold of my hair in a vice grip and drags me out of the room. ‘Up we go, Aoba.’

I scream. My throat is dry, my voice hoarse, so it would hurt to even whisper, but I _can’t_  stop _screaming_. The agony is blinding, sharp, like a knife shoved repeatedly into an already infected and tender wound. His grip tightens, pinching my strands, and I can feel the pain right to the very tips of my toes. I try uselessly to stand up, to lessen the pull by keeping up with him but he doesn’t give me a chance and I end up repeatedly tripping over my own feet as he pulls me through the house. I’m- I’m going to _die_. I wish for it, at that moment. It’s certainly what I expect when he pulls what looks like the back door of the house open to the raging storm outside.

The smell of fresh air leaves me so flabbergasted that I fall silent. When was the last time I was outside? When was the last time I even _saw_ outside? But my immediate second thought is - he’s going to kill me. Or he’s going to bury me alive, right here in this backyard in the middle of the night. The howling wind makes the door slam open against the wall, the glass pane in it vibrating. Trip quickly fishes something out from a chest of drawers by the door and momentarily throws me a dark look. I vaguely note how the vicious wind dishevels his clean shirt before he drags me outside.

It’s all too much, all at once. The pain from my hair is still overwhelming - he doesn’t let go. On top of that, the frigid air bites into my naked skin, the gusts cutting into me like a whip; the needle-like rain that falls almost horizontally feels more like tiny hailstones. I don’t try to keep up with Trip anymore - I start to struggle instead, but obviously it’s a battle lost from the start. Digging my bare feet into the uneven rough concrete amounts to nothing besides more excruciating pain of tearing skin. My yelling grows desperate but remains unintelligible; even if any words came out, I know it wouldn’t deter him. Does he not care what Virus will have to say about this? It’s not Trip’s choice alone to make, is it?

But then, I’m shoved to the ground before I know it. Catching myself on my hands and knees, I feel the top layer of my skin peel there, too. The impact knocks the breath out of me and my mouth only hangs open in a silent cry as my mind blanks for a moment. When my senses return, I hear the metallic clanking of my chain as Trip connects its free end to what looks like a drain grating in the ground with a heavy padlock.

With a shuddering gasp I reluctantly look up to the beast standing above me, my mostly drenched hair now obstructing some of my vision. Is he- He can’t-

‘The fresh air should help you think some things through,’ he speaks in his typical monotone voice, although a little louder over the wailing wind, the hissing rain, and the rumbling thunder far in the distance. Water runs down his own face and makes his clothes stick to his body but as always, he doesn’t seem to care. ‘You should take the opportunity.’

And he turns around. His boots make wet splashing sounds as he walks away. Shaking myself out of my stunned silence, I scramble to rush after him on all fours, only to be held back by the heavy metal collar cutting into my throat. I- I need to stop him. He can’t-!

‘A…Ah…! N-n… No-!’ In a frenzy, I try to call after him, no matter how much my skin oddly crawls hearing my voice attempt to form words in between hoarse sobs. He’s deaf to my cries - or rather, indifferent. ‘I- I’m s-!’ I give one last pathetic yell just before he slams the door shut behind himself. He doesn’t even look back at me. My breath quivers as the light that flooded from the inside and reflected from the puddles is switched off.

Trip left me. He really left me. Stripped, alone in the dark and the freezing cold.

I’m too dumbfounded to cry at first. Too tired. Too preoccupied with the thought that even when I think they’ve done the worst to me, they always prove me wrong and come up with something new and vile. With the thought that he left me here to die.

As the realisation of the situation settles in, so does the feeling of numbing coldness in every pore of my body. By then I’m thoroughly drenched, the frigid air making the water on my skin feel more like ice. Wrapping my arms around myself doesn’t really do any good. What _month_ is it? What season? Is it autumn? It could be. It’s so dark I can barely see a couple of metres in front of me, but I’m able to just about make out the vague silhouettes of seemingly half-barren trees. Another thunder makes me gasp and my breath comes out in a white cloud. My eyes widen. Is it close to zero degrees? I’m going to die here.

_No_. I _won’t_. I haven’t survived - weeks, months? - of merciless torture to now just freeze to death. A senseless anger builds up in me at the thought of such an anticlimactic end - as if that matters at all. The chain is too short for me to even stand up, but still I try to pull it on all fours, hoping against all reason that he didn’t close the padlock properly. That the grating is old and weathered and rusty and will give out any minute.

It doesn’t. But I keep pulling. I feel like I’m becoming insane with every passing second that I’m stuck here - freedom is right here, within an arm’s reach; I could run away, climb over that mesh fence that rattles in the wind, and just disappear. They wouldn’t find me. Maybe they wouldn’t even bother to chase me again. I’d find a town, a police station, tell them I’ve been kidnapped - they’d help me go back to Midorijima. I could see granny again. My friends. I could go back home-

But I won’t. None of this will come to pass as long as that seemingly innocuous chain keeps me grounded. A few tiny rings of metal and my dreams are nothing but silly fantasies. I can’t do anything - I can only scream myself hoarse, scrape my hands and knees and feet against the concrete, and pull at the unyielding chain until my fingers hurt.

I don’t know how long I keep this up for. Don’t know how long it takes for the fight to leave me, for my hands to drop and for my screaming to turn into helpless irregular sobs. Now that the fire and anger has died in me I’m left cold and forced to face the dark night’s wrath. There is no place to hide - it’s an open space, with the house and the nearest trees too far away to provide any kind of shield from the unforgiving gale. Only my own arms to wrap around myself, which is a pitiful and useless effort at keeping myself warm. I fold over myself, my face in my knees, trying to make myself as small as I can; leaving as little skin exposed to the wind and rain, but touching as little of the ground as possible.

The wind carries my wails. I’m not sure if there are tears since my face is completely wet anyway. Soon I’m shaking uncontrollably, half-upset and half-furious at my utter helplessness and having absolutely no means of warming myself up. My teeth are chattering, almost deafeningly loud in my own ears, but I can still hear the thunder above me growing louder. It doesn’t take much longer for my muscles to start aching and force me to move. But I’m exhausted. Numb, and yet in absolute agony at the same time. Without any fight left I let myself fall on my side an curl up on the cold, uneven ground. My knees throb with a pulsing pain. Going by touch alone I pick out a few pieces of gravel out of my raw wounds, if only as a way to pass the time.

By the time the only rough edges on my knees are from my scraped skin, the wind has increased enough for my hair to even start hurting with how much it’s being pulled about. But the pain and the cold all mix into a constant background noise that I can almost drown out now. I’ve stopped crying, but find myself whimpering occasionally, as if to just hear myself and reassure myself that I’m still alive. I drift off into a half-unconscious state, before everything suddenly goes way too bright and way too loud.

I yell in surprise and cover my ears, not understanding what’s happening - but it all lasts only a split of second. It takes me a moment to process that it was lightning and, to my horror, crashing thunder following right after it. The storm is no longer somewhere in the distance; it’s right above me. In all honesty, I’ve always been weary of them. There was always that fear that the ruined building on the morning news - burned down or crushed by a fallen tree - would turn out to be my home this time. What does it feel like, to be struck by lightning? Is it a slow and painful death? I shudder. _Please, just let it be over soon._

But it’s not. The lightning only picks up in frequency, and neither the rain nor the wind ease up. Faint sounds of creaking wood echo as the large trees nearby sway dangerously. They’re probably large enough to reach and crush me, if they fell.

But what can I do besides accepting whatever fate throws at me?

I’m slowly becoming completely numb. I can’t feel my lips as they tremble, nor my toes or fingers. At random moments I almost start to feel warm - or maybe just feverish. Will it be the storm or the cold that will kill me?

The next lightning strike is too intense. Too bright. Too _long_. Did it happen? Am I dead? The lightning engulfs me, _painfully_ bright even behind my closed eyelids. I try to shield my face and being able to move actually comes as a surprise. I squint and turn to the source of the blinding light. For a moment, I don’t register anything - only a moment later I start to make out a dark silhouette amidst the pale yellowish glow. It’s blurry - I can’t make out what it is, not sure at all what I’m looking at. The only thing I can think of is that it is somewhat shaped like letter ‘T’, but not quite. With mild worry, I begin to realise that the shape is gradually becoming larger. Approaching.

I lift my hands to my face, now not to shield myself from the light but from whatever it is that’s coming. It is only when it stops right above me and I blink the rain out of my eyes that I realise it’s a person. Holding an umbrella, visibly straining under the relentless wind. The light from inside the house reflects off his glasses.

My breath hitches with a gasp. ‘Vi-Vi…ru-s.’

‘Dear me, Aoba-san. Look at the predicament you got yourself into. You really ticked Trip off, did you not?’

I look away even if I can’t see his face very well in the dark. My shoulders rise up closer to my ears  and I don’t dare lower my hands from in front of my face. His shoes are right beside my face, well within kicking range. Did he come here just to taunt me?

The bespectacled man slowly lowers himself to a squat before me and I tense up, preparing for a possible blow.

‘I wonder if you’ve learned your lesson yet?’

Still wary, I dare to spare a glance at him. His face, as much as I can make out of it, isn’t really giving me any clues besides the suspicious lack of his usual insincere smile. Oh. He asked me a question. Was it rhetorical? Either way, I give a small nod just to be on the safe side. My vision sways a little as I do.

He sighs. ‘Normally, I wouldn’t intervene with Trip’s punishment methods, but in this weather it might be getting a little too dangerous. Give me your hand.’

I blink slowly, trying to understand. Oh. My hand? I reach one out towards his outstretched palm. I think - maybe he reaches for it first. But he definitely takes it; his skin is so hot it almost burns. His fingers dig into my wrist in few different places as if searching for something, making me wince at the pressure. His grip is strong, like he could break my bones. _I’m sorry- I’m sorry for what I did_ -

Why is he even here?

But maybe he could get me somewhere warm? If I ask nicely enough? I see my other hand clawing at his shoe as if that would prevent him from leaving. _Is_ he leaving? I search for words that could convince him to have mercy on me, but my brain is struggling. Instead, memories from a different life fill it. Back home. If I were to come across him in an alleyway, drenched to the bone, I’d probably run up to him in relief and hide under his umbrella without a second thought. And he’d let me. How is it that now I’m no sure if I should be crawling away from him instead?

‘Speak, Aoba-san. Say something.’

_What_?

The first semi-coherent thought that pops into my head is that he’s toying with me; the second, that I misheard him. But when I look at his face and see his brows furrowed uncharacteristically, it sends yet another chill down my spine and I don’t want to take any chances. 

‘I-I’m’, I croak out, not even sure he hears me. I barely hear myself, to my relief. The sound of my voice makes me nauseous. ‘C-co… ‘m, I’m- d… co… co-old. S-’

I try to plead. To apologise. Nothing intelligible comes out of my numb mouth. Virus sighs, as if unimpressed with my efforts. My heart sinks. ‘Well, then. You’re going back inside.’

Inside? Where it’s _warm_?

There’s movement around me and Virus is standing up, only to disappear out of my field of vision. The wind finally claims the umbrella just before he does, but he doesn’t seem to chase after it. Instead, I hear metallic ringing once more - of my chain? And then he’s standing above me again.

‘Can you stand?’ He’s- he’s talking _too much_. Stand up? That sounds like such a chore; it’d be so much easier to just sink into the concrete. ‘Stand up, Aoba-san.’

Not a question - I don’t have a choice but to obey. But… I have absolutely no idea how to accomplish that. With my limbs giving out even when I try to get up on all fours, I realise with dread that I _cannot_ possibly stand up. And he’s going to leave me here. Oh God, I will have wasted my chance, all because I couldn’t get up- Will he wait if I beg? But I can’t even _speak_.

Having Virus loop my arm around his shoulders to pull me up was not something I expected. I stare at him dumbly. He looks so different with his hair and clothes half-soaked and looking anything other than impeccable. He drags me along and the moment we pass the threshold and he closes the door behind us I feel like I turned deaf. The absence of the sounds of the vicious storm outside, the utter silence - they ring in my ears almost uncomfortably. Still, Virus drags me further into the house. I think we might have passed Trip, standing in a doorway with his arms crossed, before we reach the bathroom. The now-hated sound of hissing water fills the tiled space and my numb skin crawls. Bathtub. The man sits me on the edge of it, keeping me upright with one hand on my shoulder and the other gripping my face. I give out a startled whimper.

‘Listen to me carefully. Do you know who you are?’ My face must be a dead give-away, because he follows it with an immediate, ‘Don’t make such a confused face. Just answer.’

‘A-ao…b-ba.’

I think it is more of a lip-reading exercise to him rather than actually listening to me.

‘Do you know why you were outside?’

I wince, as if struck. ‘T-Trip-,’ I struggle to find words which will require the least amount of speaking; I’m already breathless. ‘I- dis…ob…d. ‘nd We-Welte-r-’

‘That’s enough,’ his eyes dart between the filling bathtub and my face. I’m not keeping up with what’s going on anymore. ‘You’re getting into this bathtub. But the second you become dizzy or otherwise worse than you are now, you’re letting me know. I’ll know if you’re lying. And you’ll regret it if you do.’ His voice is terrifying. It’s rarely that he threatens me so openly. But then, his expression changes so suddenly it gives me a vertigo - the usual plastic smile takes place of his glare and I feel sick. ‘Do you understand?’

With a weak nod I try to hold my nausea back.

‘In you go, then.’

He helps me - or rather, firmly directs me - into the water. The first contact with it leaves me screaming at the top of my lungs. It _burns_. Any remaining skin must be peeling off from my feet, for sure. I try to wriggle out of his grasp, sending water splashing everywhere, but he doesn’t let go. He doesn’t let go until I’m sitting in the water and feeling, ironically, on fire. Dimly I realise the mirror hasn’t even fogged up. Maybe it’s just me. As I settle and the burning sensation becomes nothing more than a dull throb - almost pleasant in its warmth - I start to realise the scene I made. There is water everywhere - on the floor, on _Virus_. I can’t bring myself to look up at him. I’m scared he will hit me.

And still, I’m exhausted - the warmth brings it out even more. I’m still shivering, but at least it seems as if feeling has returned to my limbs. A few unexpected coughs shake my body. My head feels heavy. Everything is sluggish.

With the corner of my eye I see Virus leave without a word. I shut my eyes. Am I supposed to follow him? Is he going to just leave me here, too? Either way, this warm water is way too pleasant - so I stay. It’s like I can once again feel the blood in my veins. It would be so easy to just fall asleep…

But Virus returns, with a small steaming cup in his hand, which he holds out to me. This time I prepare myself for the burning sensation and, warily taking it from him, I curiously peek inside. It looks like tea. It _smells_ like tea. My eyes widen. It _is_ tea. When was the last time I had such a luxury? Barely caring about the temperature, I take a small sip of the scalding beverage. It’s sweet. But it’s tea. And it’s warm. It’s almost _too_ good. My eyes water. Virus takes my other hand, feeling for my wrist again. Only now I realise he’s _checking my pulse_. He stands there, feeling my heartbeat, while I cry quietly into the teacup.

I stay in the bathtub for some time - after Virus brought me another syrupy-sweet tea and then sat on the closed toilet seat, reading something on his Coil - and gradually, the odd heaviness that filled my head starts to lift. It’s an odd sensation; as if I cured a hangover really quickly.

‘Vi-Vir…s’, I start timidly. He doesn't move, only his eyes flick to me. ‘I… What- hap…nd?’

‘Mild to moderate hypothermia’, he says, and that eerie smile does not go well with his words at all, as usual. ‘You were shivering, pale and blue, your pulse was weak and your speech slurred. Textbook. You seemed slightly confused, so putting you in a bath was somewhat of a risk; that’s why I had to keep an eye on you in case you went into cardiac arrest. That, well, would have been inconvenient. So thank you for not doing that.’ He smiles brightly once more.

I don’t say anything, only look back into the teacup with a few sugary drops remaining. How many times was I close to dying tonight? I always thought Virus was more careful with his toys - that was the reason he brought me in from outside, wasn’t it? He didn’t want me to die. And yet, he risked me having a cardiac arrest - and very likely not surviving it. Will I ever understand these two?

Speaking of them both, the door creaks open and Trip stands in the threshold. I quickly look away, my shoulders rising to my ears. I hadn’t even considered how terrifying it would be to see him right now. Without a word, Virus stands up and follows his partner outside, closing the bathroom door. Their footsteps fade away and I strain my ears to catch bits and pieces of their conversation.

_… was reckless, he was almost …_

_… I understand why, but …_

_… must be careful …_

_… his immunity is non-existent …_

_… too dangerous even for a healthy …_

I squeeze my eyes shut, curling in more on myself. It sounds like it’s just Virus calmly lecturing the taller man. I wonder if he has that same smile on his face… All of this would be less terrifying if it wasn’t for the thought that this is only going to make Trip hate me even more. Make his torture more merciless. On some odd irrational level, I also feel bad for coming between the two of them. It’s one of those times that I realise the degree to which I’ve been brainwashed. And also how idiotic I am; something so small and insignificant could not possibly put a dent in their inhumanly strong relationship - whatever it is. It wouldn’t really be a big deal if I died; I’m only a toy, while Trip is his- His __what,_ really_?

The water splashes around me a little when the opening door startles me - I sag a little in relief when it’s only Virus who announces it’s time for me to get out of the tub. He helps me up and towel-dries me like a helpless child, which is not very far off from what the reality is. Still, there’s progress - I feel more _alive_ and have enough strength in my limbs to keep myself standing.

Even though the towel is soft and delicate, the man’s motions aren’t - he ensures I’m _thoroughly_ dried, including every inch of scraped skin. I suck in a breath, wincing, but otherwise try my hardest to not resist. Never resist; that’s the only smart approach with the two of them. I note a few tiny streaks of red on the light lime-green towel. Ironically enough, now I feel like I’m burning, even if just a short while ago I was probably fairly close to freezing to death.

‘Come now, Aoba-san’, Virus pulls on my hand once he decides I’m dry enough and I dejectedly follow like a dog. Is it over for tonight? Will they let me rest? ‘Trip is not very much in the mood to play with you today anymore, he said. I’ll keep you entertained instead then so you’re not missing out.’ My shoulders drop. __Of course__. What was I expecting? Tears fill my eyes but I blink them away quickly. I just… I had enough. But not like it ever matters. My skin crawls as we enter his room. ‘Lay down on the bed, please.’

The order makes me nauseous, but it’s only his next words that he speaks slowly from somewhere behind me, standing near the dresser, that make my steps falter.

‘We need to disinfect your wounds.’

As on cue, the sharp smell of rubbing alcohol starts to fill the room like slow swirls of poison. I turn back to him with dread, only to see him standing with a white plastic bottle of disinfectant in one hand and a gauze in the other - merciless torture tools. His large, tight-lipped smile reminds me of the lightning outside; bright but utterly terrifying and deadly, especially in its apparent sincerity. Like he’s genuinely pleased at the prospect of seeing me writhe in pain. _Of course he is_.

‘ _Aoba _-__ san.’

A _gentle_ reminder for me to obey. _Gentle_ , for now. _Gentle_ , but decisive, demanding cooperation. And so I do; I always do, no matter how much I always hate it - I lay myself down like some kind of self-sacrifice, my hands fidgeting. Virus approaches me like a predator, clearly delighted with my fear, drinking it up like his wine.

Just as I expected, the pain is sharp, blinding - maybe this is what the lightning would have felt like? It first spreads through my hands which he keeps in a merciless vice grip; no matter how much I instinctively try to wriggle away from the source, he doesn’t let go and keeps pressing the gauze with the offending alcohol to my wounds. My knees are in the worst state - they’re next. Then my feet.  Whenever I try to sit up, to move away, he pushes my shoulders back down into the cold sheets. Looking at him is the last thing I want, but amidst my struggling I end up accidentally opening my eyes and seeing his face. The glint in his eye in his otherwise passive expression. He’s enjoying it. _Obviously_. Something deflates in me somewhat and I let myself sink into the linens, defeated.

I start to zone out. Withdraw. Go into some blank space in my mind that I visit often - and I _can_ , because this is nothing new. I stop trying to pay attention and keep up with his actions when it’s more his hands on my skin than the gauze. I drown out whatever it is that he murmurs at me. Drown out his wandering fingers, even when they start to cause pain; I only grit my teeth harder and pretend it’s not happening, because I don’t need to be on edge, anticipating something out of the ordinary. It all follows the same routine - the touches, growing in their intensity, the heated friction, sometimes the wetness, the disgusting sounds, the rhythmic thrusting, the shame. Virus manoeuvres me like a doll on my hands and knees and I feel him push into me. It’s fire - he might have skipped preparation entirely. I would have known if I paid attention. But this is fine. His clothed body is draped over my back as he holds me close, and I decide that this is fine. This is- this is almost _comforting_ in its familiarity. For a blissful while I float above our moving bodies, unfeeling. But something keeps dragging me back, something tethers me to the unwelcoming consciousness.

As always, it’s pain; but one that’s atypical for this situation, and with an intensity that makes it impossible to ignore as time goes on. Its source is the chafed skin of my hands and knees as I lean my full weight on them. With each thrust the friction’s burn against the sheets grows, as does the volume of my sobs until I’m forcefully pulled back into reality.

‘Ah, Aoba-san. You seem to be in a lot of pain.’

The world becomes unstable; there’s movement and before I even gather my bearings, Virus is reclining against the headboard underneath me, pulling me on top of him. I blink away the tears as I look at him in confusion.

‘Why don’t you do a bit of the work instead? That should give your hands and knees a little break’, he speaks with a rare smirk, his hands already on my thighs. I wince, the pressure on my knees not entirely gone but it’ better than it was. Still, I think I hate playing an active role in these ordeals more than anything - it’s so much more difficult to disappear into my own head.

Reluctantly, I start to lift my bony hips before lowering back down. The chain sways against my chest. Shame sizzles in me as I work to establish a rhythm, but at least my skin doesn’t. As I do, I tell myself that his hands on me are guiding instead of controlling; that thought gives me a little reassurance to tide myself over until he’s satisfied and spilling his vile warmth inside me. I would have winced if I wasn’t so used to the skin-crawling sensation. He slips out of me, spent, and reaches around me to wipe me off with a tissue - a sentiment he doesn’t always grace me with. It almost puts me at ease, but I jolt in alarm when his hand wraps around my shaft, not even half- hard.

‘N-n…no!’, I choke back a startled sob as my eyes immediately water anew. ‘Pl… please, d-don’t.’

Virus tilts his head to the side. He looks so collected post-orgasm, with only a barely-visible pink tint to his cheeks and a his chest rising and falling a little faster than normal. ‘You don’t want to come?’ He sounds almost a little intrigued.

I shake my head in a pitiful reply. The thought of such intense sensations when my body is already so aching and exhausted makes my stomach twist; I can’t imagine it being anything other than painful. I think I would, quite literally, fall apart. The thoughtful noise he makes puts me on edge but then, he mercifully takes his hand away and brings it to my cheek, unbearably gently. I’m on a very fine line between relieved and fearful.

‘If that’s so… Why don’t you lay down then and have a rest.’

To my surprise, he guides me to lay down on his chest. His arm wrapped around my shoulders is an odd feeling, but eventually I settle into it to the point of even finding it pleasant. Above me, I hear him say that I’ve done well. That they’re lucky to have me, even if I cause trouble. That they love me.

And that’s how he breaks me. That’s how he controls me - this is his typical method, a template for his behaviour. He shatters me with his mind games and painful tortures wrapped up in sweet smiles until I can no longer stand on my own. He brings me to my knees until the mourning, the fear, the hatred and self-hatred, all make it too hard to even breathe. That’s when I need his comfort - even if it’s not genuine. That’s when I need _him_ to piece me back together. And he knows just how much that on its own destroys me. Maybe that’s why he’s just as dangerous as Trip. Maybe that’s why he’s _more_ dangerous than Trip. With the burly man, I can mostly shut myself off - more than I can with Virus, anyway. For the most part, I can grit my teeth and shut my eyes and somehow survive till it’s over; till it’s time he locks me away in the dark again where I can lick my own wounds and cry to myself until the pain somewhat eases. Virus is different. I cannot patch up the wounds he leaves in my mind by myself - he takes me apart, pushing all the right buttons with expertise to efficiently reduce me to a crying fearful mess, and only _he_ knows how to put me back together. Maybe I’m just _that_ weak. Or maybe he’s just _that_ good at breaking people. Maybe it’s both. Sometimes I wonder why he’s not bored of it yet; bored of my constant tears, my pathetic sobbing. My hands clawing at his shirt, like a child, wordlessly begging him to comfort me. But I don’t question it too much. After all, it is because he doesn’t get bored of it all that I’m still alive.

I could never hope to understand the dynamic between the two, but I know there’s something very intense that Trip feels for the smaller man. Love? That would be my first guess if I knew these psychopaths were capable of such a complex emotion. Infatuation? Idolisation? _Obsession_? Whatever it is, he follows him. If Virus were to say they’re done with me ( _when_ he says it), Trip would snap my neck without thinking twice; I wouldn’t even know what hit me. They always say they love me. Obviously, they don’t. My guess is that Virus, for some unfathomable reason, still finds me interesting or at the very least, enjoys toying with me. Trip on the other hand - I’m quite convinced he hates me to my core. Maybe because I take up too much of Virus’ attention, or maybe because he simply finds me dull, now - but there is a boiling anger in his eyes disguised underneath that constant boredom and indifference. It’s well hidden, but it’s there; I can see it every time he looks at me. When the time will come for them to dispose of me, I know it will be Trip that will kill me. He wouldn’t let Virus take that joy away from him. If he can even feel anything akin to joy.

‘You’re thinking very hard, Aoba-san, I can tell.’

I startle at his overly sweet voice, indeed way too deep in my thoughts to the point that I almost forgot I’m in bed with my abuser. Lying on this chest like one would with a lover, no less. Not a single logical thing happened since I’ve been taken here.

‘Would you like to tell me?’

Wincing, I hide my face in his shirt. It still smells nice, of some fresh softener, as it soaks up the last of my drying tears. I shake my head minutely. Sometimes he lets me off easy. Sometimes he lets me off but makes me pay for it somehow. Sometimes he pushes until I cooperate. I can never know, but it’s worth a try.

‘Ah, is that so,’ he murmurs calmly. ‘Have it your way, then.’

All my muscles tense at his words as he shifts somewhat underneath me, my body readying itself for the blow that I logically know is unlikely to come - not from him. But maybe it’s the uncertainty that makes me shiver until he touches me again. My hair, to be exact. My knuckles too slow in reaching my teeth to stifle yet another pathetic whine; completely instinctual, it slips from my throat before the pain registers. Pain, which doesn’t _actually_ register at all.

It’s not exactly pain that I feel. I feel something, for sure, but it doesn’t have the sharp edge, the vicious bite to it. It’s just- just a sensation. Rhythmic, repeated.

He’s _stroking my head_. Not to hurt - if it were possible, I would have thought he is being deliberately gentle. The realisation takes me aback so much that I don’t notice the quiet rustling across the sheets as his Allmate slithers towards us until I spot it with the corner of my vision. No. _No_. Anything but that. Tonight’s whole mess started because of those damn blue-eyed machines - I’ve had enough. As the all too familiar panic starts to bubble underneath my skin I try to lift myself up on shaky arms - my hands still sore - and move away as the snake keeps advancing, but the man’s voice stops me momentarily.

‘Looks like Hersha wants to say hello. Fret not, Aoba-san; I’m sure he just heard your crying and only wants to make sure you’re okay.’

Is he just openly ridiculing me now? I look between the two beasts, paralysed by panic like a deer in headlights. But when the snake suddenly wraps itself around my arm once at unnatural speed I’m startled and try to scramble back. Not that I get very far.

‘I _said _’__ , Virus drawls dangerously low as he grips the back of my neck tight, holding me in place - I choke back a tearful gasp when he presses on my hair, ‘Hersha only wants to say hello.’

No more.

I can’t do it anymore. I’m exhausted, barely functioning, terrified and in pain - but my body still senses danger and runs on adrenaline only to ensure I don’t die. It doesn’t stop me from breaking into helpless sobs as I hang my head in defeat. Still, I try to hold them back. I try to stop them from jostling my shoulders. The Allmate continues to wrap itself around my upper body while, ironically, I shiver from the effort of trying to stay still. As Virus implicitly demanded. Only my lip trembles and my chest heaves as I hyperventilate. I hope this is… acceptable to him. I really am trying. For some unfathomable illogical reason I want him to know that - that I’m doing what I can to obey him. To be __good__. I _need_ him to know that; I need it so much that I could shatter from it. I don’t understand why. Maybe it’s because it’s my last line of defence, my last hope, my only mean of appeasing him and hopefully stopping him from punishing me more. At least for tonight. Just for tonight.

At some point I realise he’s not gripping my neck anymore - a good sign for sure, but the snake doesn’t seem to be done with whatever it is that it’s trying to do, so I keep trying to remain as motionless as possible. Unsettled, I feel Virus trace his fingers across my visible ribs, straining against the skin with each quick breath. He doesn’t berate me for that movement - not sure if I could stop even if he did.

I try to be good. I really do. But when the Allmate starts to wrap itself around my throat - loosely, for _now_ \- I truly can’t stop my body from jolting in fear. Even when I try to settle down I still can’t stop the pathetic sobs that escape me; maybe I’m going to be suffocated next minute. What a bizarre scene; my captor, my abuser, my rapist - relaxed and reclining against the pillows while I hover above him, propping my upper body on my arms and trying my damn hardest not to move while his metallic animal chokes me to death. It’ almost funny. I start to shake. I feel half-delirious with fear.

A hand grips my chin to lift my head up. Did he finally get angry?

‘Aoba-san,’ he speaks surprisingly gently, dragging out every vowel. ‘ _Breathe_.’

Isn’t that what I’m doing? I almost want to laugh in his face - but he might have a point. Though heaving, I feel my lungs burn as if no oxygen is entering my body. 

And so I try to be _good _;__ squeeze my eyes shut and try to hold each breath for at least a second or two. It’s starting to work, but only for a short while - until something damp and small unexpectedly flicks against my face. Repeatedly. Realisation dawns on me only when I hear the snake’s hiss close to my ear but before I descend into hysterics once more, Hersha uncoils from around my cold and clammy body. Timidly, I blink my eyes open. The Allmate is gone.

Somewhat dazed - _did this even happen?_  - I look up to Virus’ face. As usual, it beams with that sickly-sweet expression. ‘See, didn’t I tell you? He only wanted to say hello.’

Dumbly, I give a weak nod and slowly lower myself back onto his chest on shaky arms. It’s almost… comforting. It’s warm. I can feel his warmth through his shirt as my own chilled skin greedily soaks it up. Without a care that I must look like a dog pathetically curling into him, I allow myself this small luxury, this short moment of harmless body contact with another human. It’s so good I could almost smile lightly to myself. Maybe I do.

_This_ would be fine. I _want_ that. I want to be able to trust him. Knowing that he cares for and sees me as a human - not just an object. That when he says he won’t hurt me, he’ll really mean it. That when he says he loves me - _No_. I cringe at the thought. Obviously, I don’t want him to _love_ me - if he even could love anyone. I don’t want whatever it is that he has with Trip. I just want what we had before back. That unclear friends-or-acquaintances relationship, where it would be more logical for us to protect rather than harm each other. How could everything have changed so drastically? Was none of it true? Were we ever really ‘friends’? I never actually knew them, did I? At the very least, I want him to stop hurting me - but I know that once he does, I won’t even have time to enjoy it as they’ll only end up killing me with disappointed boredom. _You’re not very fun anymore, Aoba-san…_

I just want to trust someone, something. _Anything _.__ Even if it’s a blatant and utter lie.

Is this how Noiz felt? Another human, right beside him; touching them with his own hands and yet unable to feel, unable to connect? Like me, now; in another person’s arms, desperate to trust, desperate to connect, but knowing I can’t? My chest constricts at the thought of the pierced brat and everyone else I loved and left in Midorijima. No - I can’t let myself think about them ever again. They’re not a part of my life anymore; I can’t let myself hope of ever seeing them again. The only comfort I can give myself is the hope that they’re all safe and well. Happier than me.

Despite the mental turmoil, now that Hersha is gone I relaxed a little and my body is not on high alert, the effects of my banishment outside catch up to me once more and I start coughing. The first bout catches me by surprise; I try to keep the next ones in, but it’s fruitless - soon I’m sitting on my knees, doubled over and feverish, struggling to breathe through a coughing fit, each as painful as a hit from a belt. I turn away from him, not trusting the nauseous sensation and very much doubting Virus would appreciate even being coughed on. It seems to take forever for my breathing to settle, to quieten down to pathetic whiny whimpers. I sniff, my nose a little runny.

And then, just like everything else this evening, a hand on my trembling shoulder makes me jump. Before it becomes comforting. Why is the hand that brought me pain so many times suddenly so soothing today? Maybe I’m just running out of options. Maybe I’m just so fragile, body and mind - especially _mind_ \- that I’ll take anyone, anything. Any source of comfort. Resisting the urge to lean into that slender palm suddenly becomes unnervingly difficult. I could do it- I could rest on his shoulder for just a second- just a moment before he’d push me away.

‘ _Aoba-san_.’

His voice, as always deceptively gentle but calling to attention. I can hear that disingenuous grin in it. But he puts on such a skilled act I could almost fall for it. It would be so easy.

But when I turn back to him my heart clenches painfully.

He’s holding out a tissue to me.

And with that little action I decide to myself that I’ll let myself sink. I’ll be a fool. For my sanity and self preservation, I’ll give up and give in. I’ll lie to my own face. I’ll fall for the ‘good cop and bad cop’ illusion; even if in reality it’s more of a ‘bad cop and worse cop’ between the two of them, though I can’t be absolutely sure which is which. In this illusion, Trip can be the one to tear me apart while Virus will be there to pick me up and piece me together. Trip will be the torture, Virus the kind aftercare. I’ll let myself be lulled into a false sense of security, only for it to be exploited and crushed under their feet - for no other reason than to feel that moment of security, even if will only be a façade. This will be what I’ll want. I’ll _tell myself_ that this is what I’ll want. From now on, I’ll _want_ Virus’ touch. I’ll tell myself that his grip on me is tender and affectionate while it will dig into my skin; will let myself be aroused by his heavy breathing. It won’t be rape. It won’t hurt. I’ll make myself believe that when he comforts me, it’s genuine. I’ll make myself like the slickness of Hersha’s tongue and the stench of wine as it clings to me, inside and out. And once I come to love Virus’ ways, maybe I’ll tell myself that I love the overly-sugary cakes and that it’s not humiliating to have them dribble down my chin. I’ll tell myself that Welter’s fur is pleasantly soft, and that his claws provide a pleasant scratch for an itch that doesn’t exist. They’ll get their fun from seeing me crushed over and over, while I’ll get my brief release from loneliness. Everyone will be happy.

Taking the tissue from him I thank him almost inaudibly and blow my nose. I’ll be good.

But he tilts his head, narrowing his eyes a little. The usual fake smile is gone. ‘Hm. You are really upset today, Aoba-san. But you won’t tell me anything. I wonder- do you miss Tae-san?’

There. There it is. He made me pay, after all. No beating around the bush - just going straight for the kill. Resentment wells up, even if I don’t have the strength to fan it into a full-blown fury. How dare he? Of course he knows I miss her, that even thinking about her brings agony. And his and Trip’s insanity is the sole reason why I can never see her again. How dare he ask; how dare he even say her name?! He’s trying to get a rise out of me. I want to glare at him but if I’m being honest with myself, I’m pathetically scared of making him angry or even getting on his nerves in any way. I’ve just had enough for today. So instead I only grit my teeth and look away.

‘Ah, you _do_.’

I don’t let it get to me. Or rather - I don’t let it show how much it does.

‘Either way. I think it will be best if you stay here for the night.’

Now this gets a reaction that he probably wanted - my head snaps to him in alarm. For _the night_. The _whole_ night? My expression must be a complete give-away of my worries - which only makes him smirk in satisfaction. ‘But sadly I won’t be able to keep you company. I’ve unfortunately got work to do. So use that time to sleep and recover, won’t you, Aoba-san?’

His apparent unexpected kindness leaves me in shock, but I immediately realise it’s for __his__ own benefit - he just doesn’t want his property to malfunction or break. They did actually put a thin futon in the room that they keep me in, but it doesn’t really keep away the floor’s chill. This bed is _warm_.

I never know whether he wants an actual explicit agreement to these questions, but I nod once anyway. His smile returns and it makes me sick; I’ve seen more than enough of it today. On the other hand, seeing him rise from the bed is exhilarating to the point of almost making me dizzy with relief. I’m already half asleep when he - oddly enough - tucks me under the covers, and I’m barely conscious when he wishes me a good night.

I want so badly to stay awake for a while, to savour the extraordinary luxury but I’m defenceless against my exhaustion and all too soon I fall into the deepest, most peaceful sleep. As I wake up to Virus’ footsteps in the morning I realise I might have even drooled on his pillow a little. If he notices, he doesn’t berate me for it.

When he brings me back to my room and we pass a window, I realise it must be the first time since they brought me here that I’ve seen daylight. I quint. It hurts my eyes. But it’s not the sun that makes my steps falter. It’s the large tree, broken and toppled over in the backyard.

 

 

I surprise myself with how much I suddenly wish Virus didn’t bring me inside last night.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr @fishnatu, if you'd ever feel like saying hi <3


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